He looked up from his greasy plate of food. “I was born human in 1820 and turned vampire in 1856, when I was thirty-six.”
My jaw dropped. “Wow. So, you’re—”
“Really old,” he smiled.
“Oh, come now, you don’t look a day over two hundred,” I teased.
“Does this trouble you, knowing that I’m an old man?”
“Not at all! I’m just shocked you didn’t tell Marge to give you the senior citizen’s discount. You definitely qualify.” I flashed him the biggest, cheesiest grin I could muster.
He rolled he eyes. “You don’t find my age curious? Unbecoming?”
“No, way,” I said with the utmost sincerity. “On the contrary. I can’t imagine the world of knowledge and history you must have inside your head, the things you’ve seen. You’ve witnessed two world wars, the Civil Rights Movement, the beginning of airplanes, telephones, the internet, rock-and-roll . . . You’ve lived through some of the most revolutionary eras in human history. I don’t find that unbecoming,” I said breathlessly. “I envy you.”
“You are something else, Olivia, you know that? I‘ve never viewed my life that way.” He beheld me with his ethereal gaze. “What is it about you that makes me feel so happy?”
13
I’d been trapped in a foggy mental haze since my date—decoying,I had to keep reminding myself—with Robert. Only a day had passed since my time with the vampire, but I was chomping at the bit to see him again.
Sunday was the one morning of the week I allowed myself to sleep in, but today it seemed that was not to be the case. I’d spent a sleepless night obsessing over whether Robert had thought of meat allor if he’d seen our time together as merely a business transaction, which, I supposed, it was regardless of him wanting me or not. I’d tossed and turned as the light outside my window changed from black to purple, then brightened to orange, wishing there was a way to contact him that wouldn’t violate my terms of employment with Dignitary or make me look like a desperate stalker.
Hearing Liz zipping around the apartment, I gave up on the notion of sleep, throwing the covers off my body with a groan. Who wasItoassume that a man like Robert would have the tiniest amount of interest in someone like me? What could I offer that he didn’t already have? He’d flirted with me during our night together, but so what? Flirting was hardly a marriage proposal, was it?
I flopped on my side and groaned into my pillow. Hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
“Oh my god!” Liz barged into my room, startling me half to death. She was yelling in such a riled manner that I could only assume the worst, like the whole place was going up in flames.
I lurched out of bed and flung a robe on over my pajamas. “What’s happening? Say something!”
“This!” she shrieked, waving the Sunday edition ofSan Francisco Society Times, a small newspaper produced by writers known for giving every article a scandalous edge. “What the hell, Olivia?”
“Why are you shouting?” I snatched the paper from her, my words trailing off as I began to understand what all the fuss was about. I could only make out the first half of the front-page headline: BILLIONAIRE BUSINESS TYCOON ROBERT BRAMS . . .
I quickly flattened the paper out on my bed, gasping as I read the full article title: BILLIONAIRE BUSINESS TYCOON ROBERT BRAMSON SLUMS IT IN DINER WITH MYSTERY WOMAN.
And that wasn’t the worst of it. In the center of the page was a large color photo of me caressing Robert’s cheek. The photo had been cropped in such a way that the moment looked far more intimate than it had been. Under the photo was a caption.All dressed up: Robert Bramson and mystery woman get romantic in formal attire in railroad-themed café.
I swiftly scanned the article, cringing each time an incriminating phrase jumped off the page:
The couple talked through the night . . .
They gazed at each other lovingly . . .
They left together just before dawn . . .
I flopped down on the bed. “Aw, fuck!”
Liz squealed, “This is really you? I can’t believe it!”
“This. Is. So. Bad.” I buried my hands in my face. “I’m so screwed.”
“I don’t get it. Why are you upset? Is that why you’ve been so secretive lately, you’re dating some bigwig billionaire?” She shook her head in amazement. “I . . . I don’t know what I thought, but it wasn’t this!”
Enjoy the humble pie, Liz, I thought nastily. Maybe next time she wouldn’t jump to conclusions and assume the worst of me.
“I know what you thought,” I said icily. “Does this mean our fight is over?”
